


With Friends Like These...

by CGotAnAccount



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Extra Helpful Holt, Getting Together, M/M, One throwaway line that could imply katt., SHEITH - Freeform, Shenanigans, Terrible Advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27502219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: It's a common sight these days – the Captain of the Atlas slumped over a little cafeteria table, hand planted on his chin as he stares wistfully across the room toward the contingent of Blades that have taken over one of the corners. Some of the crew whisper in the hallways that he misses the days spent working with them in up close and personal combat... or that his connection to the ship lets him read minds and he's actually gleaning intel from the spy troupe just by watching them.They're all idiots of course – the Captain included. Matt knows better than anyone that Shiro's actually just a pathetic sad sack, mooning over the Blade that isn't sitting at the bench.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 68
Kudos: 174





	With Friends Like These...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bioplast_hero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioplast_hero/gifts).



> For Hiro, some Terrible Dating Advice :)

It's a common sight these days – the Captain of the Atlas slumped over a little cafeteria table, hand planted on his chin as he stares wistfully across the room toward the contingent of Blades that have taken over one of the corners. Some of the crew whisper in the hallways that he misses the days spent working with them in up close and personal combat... or that his connection to the ship lets him read minds and he's actually gleaning intel from the spy troupe just by watching them.

They're all idiots of course – the Captain included. Matt knows better than anyone that Shiro's actually just a pathetic sad sack, mooning over the Blade that _isn't_ sitting at the bench.

Besides, if Shiro c _ould_ read minds then he wouldn't have to sit here next to him, watching the man push around his noodles as they cool into indistinguishable globs of cheese – because anyone who has a toddler's sense of emotional intelligence could put one and one together and come up with two completely moronic black paladins in love.

Unfortunately, neither of the fools in question were ever toddlers. Keith probably hatched from an egg clutching a knife, and Shiro was definitely some sort of super serum lab experiment gone horribly right.

They're disgustingly perfect for each other.

“Soooo,” Matt drawls, plunking his tray down as loudly as possible to get his friend's attention. “Have you thrown your hat in the ring for the rights to woo your dearest feral gremlin yet?”

“No,” Shiro sighs, long past the point of trying to lie to Matt about, well... anything. “He's on a mission until tomorrow.”

“So you're gonna send him a dick pic to welcome him home?”

Shiro doesn't bother to respond beyond a disgruntled snort – a firm opponent of the foreskin photoshoot despite the fact that Matt knows without a shadow of a doubt that Keith would be on the next wormhole back to make room for it in _his_ wormhole.

“Your loss,” Matt shrugs and stabs a forkful of broccoli, happily imagining it's his best friend's stupid stubborn head. “Someone else is gonna snap him up you know.”

“No they won't,” Shiro grunts, sweeping a slow squint around the dingy grey room like he's evaluating the competition... and finding them terribly lacking. “Keith has higher standards than that.”

Matt enjoys keeping his testicles affixed to his body, so he doesn't alert Shiro to the fact that he knows _intimately_ how low Keith's standards are.

“How do you know some big sweaty Galra isn't going to come along and rub their stink glands on him in a marriage contract?”

“They don't do that,” Shiro retorts automatically, then pauses, turning to face Matt with a vaguely concerned quirk of his brow. “Do they?”

_Gotcha._

“You've never heard of the D'eez ceremony?” Matt levels him with his best judgmental look, letting his eyebrows shoot upward as he shakes his head in disgust. “And you call me the uncultured one.”

“My time with the Galra wasn't the best for social niceties,” Shiro grumbles, pouting defensively as his gaze trails back over to the contingent of spies. “If you do recall, there was a lot of trying not to get murdered.”

“Well.” Matt grins and drapes an arm across Shiro's shoulders like the excellent friend he is. “Don't you worry, buddy. I've had more than enough time to learn the finer points of alien love for the both of us.”

“Didn't you have that weird rash with the blue boils like two months ago?” Shiro asks, like the ungrateful turd _he_ is. “Did they not teach you about that one?”

“I'll have you know those boils were quite sensitive.” Matt sniffs haughtily, nose in the air as he makes to shift away. “And if you don't want my help then maybe I'll go see who does...”

“Wait!” Shiro clutches onto his sleeve with the floating arm, puppy eyes in full force when Matt turns back around. “Please... help me Matthew Holt, you're my only hope.”

Matt presses a hand to his heart, an earnest smile on his face as he thanks his lucky stars that Shiro can't read minds.

Keith's fighter arrives right on time the next morning, landing in the hanger with barely a whisper as he sets it down effortlessly. It's doubly impressive since Shiro knows that he's probably running on a few days worth of energy rations and dehydrated goo powder. He can't help but rock from foot to foot in anticipation as his fingers threaten to crush the bag of treats he's brought as a welcome home gift.

The seal around the ramp breaks with a hiss as it lowers, setting the perfect backdrop for Keith to stroll out from as he descends. He looks like an angel – hood down and hair tussled... even the bags under his eyes are an attractive shade of plum.

“Keith!” Shiro can't help but shout in his excitement as he trots over to wrap his arms around the smaller man. “I missed you. How was your trip?”

“Long,” Keith sighs, leaning into Shiro's chest like a dead man walking. “I missed you too.” He takes a deep inhale of Shiro, then tips his chin up with a smile like dawn breaking over the horizon. “Are there some of Hunk's snickerdoodles in that bag?”

“Fresh from the oven,” Shiro confirms, releasing him enough to pass the bag over while still maintaining contact. “I thought you might appreciate a home cooked meal.”

“God, you have no idea.” Keith tears into the bag with vigor, shoving an entire cookie into his mouth with a moan. “The goo duft if' 'fo ba'”

“I've heard Hunk's assessment of it and that was enough for me,” Shiro agrees, preening as Keith plucks another cookie out and leans into his embrace, munching like a contented chipmunk. “Do you have any plans for today?”

Keith half shrugs – a waffling blow-off of the debrief that Shiro knows he's supposed to be on his way toward any time now. “Not really, you got something in mind?”

“I might.” Shiro shifts to tuck Keith under his arm completely, subtly rubbing his jacket-clad armpit onto Keith's shoulder. “But the first stop is to get you into something more comfortable.”

Keith lets himself be steered down the hallways without the faintest hint of question, happily chomping on his cookies as Shiro leads them to his own suite.

“I got the comfiest pair of sweats from Atlas the other day,” Shiro explains as he shuffles over to the closet, plucking out a not exactly clean pair for Keith to try on. “You can borrow a shirt too, I know your closet is probably a little musty by now.”

It's almost certainly not. It's been two weeks at the most, and the closets are attached to the ship's main ventilation system – but the little white lie is so small in the grand scheme of things...

Almost as small as Keith looks when he peels off his own uniform and leaves it in a heap in the corner of Shiro's floor. He has to roll the sweatpants twice to keep the heels from dragging behind him, and the sweatshirt gives him the _cutest_ sweater paws.

It's almost unbearable.

He smells just like Shiro too – and judging by the way he pulls the collar tight and inhales, he doesn't mind it.

But Keith's beautiful smile is marred by a scowl when his communicator chirps, and then keeps chirping.

“Ugh, it's Kolivan.”

“Do you need to go already?” Shiro asks, trying his best not to sound like the mournful sap that he is.

“Probably,” Keith sighs, flapping his hands down onto his thighs. “Thanks for the clothes though, this'll be the most comfortable debrief I've had in ages.”

Shiro tugs him into another hug, rubbing on Keith's shoulders before stepping back with an encouraging smile. “Alright then, Mr. Important Blade Leader... go tell them how you saved the world again.”

“Pffft, Shiro-” Keith laughs, shaking his head as he turns to go. “You're ridiculous... rain check on the afternoon?”

“Of course!”

Shiro keeps smiling at the door until it slides shut behind Keith – then he jerks his arm up to give himself a good sniff, brow furrowed in consternation.

Clearly he needs a better sense of smell if this is going to work.

Of course life is not that easy, and instead of a way to tell if he's emitting the proper pheromones, he gets... Lance.

“Oh Captain, my Captain... so I hear you're trying to woo Mullet.”

Shiro closes his eyes and leans his head against the tablet in his hands, cursing himself for thinking the paladin common room would be a safe place to get work done.

“Hi, Lance.”

“Yeah, sure. Hi.” Lance flings a spidery leg over the back of the couch and plops down next to him, jostling the work enough that Shiro gives up altogether. “I'm offended you didn't come to see the Love Guru right away.”

“And who would that be?” Shiro sighs, determined to make him work for it if he has to listen to the Loverboy spiel.

“Uh, duh.” One flailing hand gestures up and down his skinny body as Lance pins him with his most offended look. “Clearly the one who bagged the princess.”

Honestly, that's fair. Even if Shiro is pretty sure it's more of a failure of judgment on her part than anything Lance proactively accomplished.

“Fine.” Shiro sets the tablet down and turns to look at Lance. “What would the 'Love Guru' have me do?”

“Well for starters, you're the least romantic person on the planet,” Lance assesses, like he's describing the weather and not dragging Shiro within an inch of his life, “maybe you should stop calling Keith buddy... I call my little cousins buddy.”

“I've called him buddy since he was fifteen!” Shiro protests, already regretting not leaving the room immediately.

“ _Exactly._ ” Lance rolls his eyes like he's talking to a toddler. “He's not fifteen anymore you know, you can try out some cute pet names.”

Shiro's sigh feels like it comes from the depths of his soul.

“Like what... babe?”

“Eugh, _no._ ” Lance's nose wrinkles as he waves away the suggestion. “Not unless he reminds you of a literary pig... try something sweeter.”

“I don't know...” Shiro hedges, thoroughly skeptical of anything vaguely resembling advice from this source. “Keith doesn't seem like a pet name kind of guy.”

Lance sniffs, throwing Shiro a sly glance as he checks his nails. “I dunno Cap... he sure blushes when Matt calls him Kitten...”

“...how about sugar?”

Keith is as gorgeous as ever when Shiro shuffles up next to him in the lounge the next day. He's got his hair in a little bun that shows off the nape of his neck, and it's almost enough to drive Shiro to distraction before he can even enact his plan... but no. He must remain focused.

“Hey Keith.” He aims for casual... but not too casual! Causally affectionate. Affectionately casual. “How's it going?”

Perfect.

Keith turns to smile up at him, no doubt that he heard him enter the room. “Hi Shiro, just finishing up a report.”

“Oh, reports.” Shiro nods, settling down next to him on the couch, a scant inch closer than usual as he throws his arm over the back of the cushions above Keith's shoulders. “Those are fun.”

“Yeah,” Keith snorts, eyes rolling as he turns back to the papers. “Loads of fun.”

“You know what else is fun, uh... s-sugar?” Shiro stutters, hoping his smile looks more suave than constipated as he aims a seductive eyebrow down at the man beside him.

...the man who turns to him, confusion written plain across his face.

“Sugar is fun?” Keith cocks his head, brows furrowing. “You mean like... snacking? Are you hungry?”

“Uuuh... no.” Shiro blinks at him, wilting a bit before sucking in a breath and trying to intensify his smolder. “I mean... I'm hungry... for you... peaches.”

“I don't have any peaches.” Keith looks terribly apologetic as he glances toward the knapsack at his feet. “I think I might have some dried fruit rations though, we usually carry them in the standard issue survival pack, but honestly they're not that great...”

“Oh, no... it's fine-” Shiro tries to backpedal, but Keith is already leaning down to dig through his bag. “Really, I'm not that hungry.”

“When's the last time you even ate?” Keith grumbles , casting a look over his shoulder as he feels around the bottom of the sack. “I bet you've been skipping lunch again without me here to remind you.”

“Uuuh...” Shiro blinks at him, unwilling to outright lie and frankly bewildered at the unexpected turn the conversation has taken. “I mean, I- um...”

“That's what I thought.” Keith heaves out a gusty sigh as his search comes up empty. Before Shiro knows it, the papers on the table have been swept into the pack and Keith is standing beside him, offering a hand down. “Come on, lets go grab lunch.”

“Well... okay?”

Shiro takes the hand and lets himself be hauled up and manhandled into the hallway.

At least lunch is _kind of_ a date...

“Shiro... lunch that you eat together every day is _not_ a date.”

Allura rubs her temples with a force that would worry him if she hadn't already grown to loom over his desk like his third grade teacher used to do.

“It kinda was,” he argues halfheartedly, not willing to look into her eyes to see the judgment there. “We walked there together, he held my hand on the way-”

“He _dragged_ you down the hall,” she interrupts, sounding all too much like Lance. “That doesn't count as hand holding.”

Shiro sniffs and shuffles some papers around, dismissing the point entirely. What do these people know anyway? He knows Keith better than any of them, and they clearly don't have the best taste...

“I think I'm doing fine on the current trajectory.”

“Your current trajectory is an orbit, Shiro,” she growls and slaps her hands onto the desk, “I'm sure it's great if you never want to actually come into contact with him.”

“ _Look_ -” he snips right back, eyes narrowing and thoroughly fed up with all the useless advice he's received so far, “-nothing is working, okay? I'm trying... I'm _trying._ It's like flirting with a brick wall.” Allura jerks back in surprise at the unexpected outburst, and Shiro deflates. “I'm sorry... it's just... maybe it's not meant to be?”

“Shiro, no...” Allura shakes her head as she shrinks back down by degrees, reaching out to settle her palm on top of his. “Don't give up... I know you two have something special.”

“What, can Alteans see that with their fancy space magic too?”

“No, we just have eyes.” She rolls hers before rapping on his knuckles. “Humor me.”

Shiro knows it's a bad idea. He _knows._

“...Fine.”

“Shiro... what in the hell are you wearing?”

Keith looks lovely when he's trying to hold back laughter, his little canines digging into his bottom lip and his cheeks tinging all rosy...

“It's a traditional Altean instrument.” He shrugs – or rather, tries to shrug. The drum-thing attached to his back makes it hard to move his shoulders, and the accordion-like instrument between his hands keeps him from turning them palm up. Still, he thinks the point gets across. “Neat, huh?”

“Uuh, it's... something.” Keith's mouth is definitely wobbling from the effort of holding back laughter now, so this whole things can't be a total loss. “Did I miss a memo somewhere?”

“Nope.” Shiro grins at him with more confidence than he feels as he reaches out with an elbow to dim the lights in their common room. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, consider me surprised.” The playful lilt in Keith's voice as he settles back onto the little couch buoys Shiro's hopes. “Show me whatcha got.”

“Yes, sir... _ahem.”_

He sucks in a deep breath, preparing to belt out the traditional Altean yodel that accompanies the instrumental strains-

“ _Wait!_ ”

Two heads swivel toward the door where a wheezing Hunk clutches the frame with one hand and his chest with the other.

“Hunk?”

“Just.... hold on...” Hunk puffs, lifting a finger before straightening out to heave a breath in. “Need a minute-”

“Take your time,” Shiro mumbles, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot with a gentle clang of his cymbals.

“Yeah man, no rush,” Keith agrees, looking more than a little concerned even as Hunk waves him off when he makes to stand.

“I'm good, I'm good... just had to... make it here to stop this-”

Shiro can't help but frown at him, vaguely put-out by the insinuation that his yodel wouldn't be well received. “I think we're okay here-”

“No.” Hunk shakes his head as shuffles over, yanking off the velcro holding it all together with a deafening clatter. “Please, no. I can't take any more of this.”

“Any more of what?” Keith asks, well and truly lost but ready to defend Shiro's honor. “It can't be that bad.”

“You would say that,” Hunk mutters as he drags a hand down his face. “Look, I'm doing you both a favor... Keith, Shiro is trying to woo you. Shiro, Keith has already been wooed. Now can you both stop taking everyone's terrible advice?”

Shiro gapes at his friend, utterly at a loss for words as Hunk rips the curtain back from his deepest schemes.

But of course, it's beautiful unflappable Keith that shocks him the most.

“Hey, Matt's advice was pretty good,” Keith defends, ever loyal to his friends, “he said the Nu'htz festival is coming up... I was gonna ask Shiro to go with me.”

“The... Nu'htz... festival.” Hunk repeats, planting a hand on the top of his head as he stares skyward. “And you trust him _why_?”

“Well, Matt's advice was probably the least terrible,” Shiro agrees, stepping out of the pile of metal bits and tangled straps to stand by Keith in solidarity. “At least the D'eez ceremony was backed by science... unlike calling someone food names.”

Hunk stares at them for a long moment, his face a mask of disbelief.

“You know what?” He shakes his head and raises his hands in placation as he backs from the room. “You guys just... keep on keeping on then.” His sigh sounds nearly painful as he throws them one last judgmental wince. “Let me know how 'Doze Nuhtz' go.”

And then he's shuffling out the door, still shaking his head in disgust as he mimes air quotes until his fingers look like they're about to fall off.

“Huh.” Keith grunts in his wake, reaching out with a boot to poke at the pile in front of him. “I would have thought that Hunk of all people would be more culturally sensitive.”

“Right?” Shiro agrees, scratching at the back of his head, equally sheepish and relieved to have his cover blown so spectacularly. “So, um... did you wanna go to that festival with me then?”

Keith turns to smile at him, all sweet and shy as he reaches out to take Shiro's hand.

“Yeah, Shiro... it's a date.”


End file.
